Hosed

Seems like I spent all morning drilling holes, through cabinetry and bulkheads, for a high-pressure propane gas hose to replace Ben's original copper oven/stove supply line.

Just as I was getting good n' aggravated (and not just with my ineptitude) Tatiana called on my cell. Then as I went to sit down on the swimstep I misjudged the distance and, in nearly stumbling off the deck and falling onto the driveway, managed to almost break my left big toe.

Naaah, go on. It's broken. I just haven't taken my shoe off to look yet. Maybe it's the same one I broke last year; I can't remember.

Tatiana gasped and asked in perfectly unaccented English, "Oh, no! Did you throw your back out?"

Hmmm. I gotta memo self to find out more about that and what it means.

But there's two things here worth mentioning. (1) I didn't say any bad words, and Tatiana is my witness (2) Breaking your big toe has its own special way of making you forget all about being aggravated over something else even though the thing that had you aggravated seemed monstrously large and imposing at the time.

Yaaa, and the stove works now, too.